


The Rat

by TopHatCat



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Betrayal, Bittersweet Ending, Fix-It of Sorts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:15:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27805186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TopHatCat/pseuds/TopHatCat
Summary: Molly returns and confesses her betrayal...but she's not the only rat in camp.
Relationships: Arthur Morgan & Dutch van der Linde, Molly O'Shea/Dutch van der Linde
Comments: 2
Kudos: 41





	The Rat

**Author's Note:**

> Ehhh this is a lazy fic, in my opinion. But I finished it and figured I'd post it since it's got an interesting concept.

"I told ‘em!”

“I’m sorry?” Dutch asked, his tone soft and full of rage, and Arthur wanted to tell Molly to  _ shut up and stay quiet!  _ But the drunken woman kept talking, staggering about to look at the gathering crowd.

“Yeah I told ‘em and I'd tell ‘em again!” she said, spinning about to look Dutch in the face. “Now I've got  _ God’s  _ ear!”

“You told who,  _ what _ ?” Dutch demanded, and Molly waved her arms in the air, as if gesturing at something only she could see.

“Mr. Milton and Mr. Ross….”

When the names passed her lips Arthur swore the temperature of the camp dropped by several degrees, and a cold shiver ran down his spine.

“...about the bank robbery,” Molly continued, and shook her finger at Dutch’s nose, tears on her cheeks. “And I wanted them to kill you!”

“You did  _ what _ ?”

Dutch’s revolver was in his hand then, and a slight tremor went through those standing in the circle around the young woman. Arthur’s breath caught in his throat but he swallowed his own rising anger as Molly screamed,

“ _ I loved you _ , you goddamn bastard!”

Arthur’s left hand settled on Dutch’s shoulder, his right pushing the man’s arm down as the outlaw’s finger trembled over the revolver’s trigger. “She’s crazy,” he said in a low voice, hoping his words would make it through the storm clouding the man’s mind. “She ain’t worth it.”

Dutch didn’t fight the lowering of his gun’s barrel, and Arthur’s heartbeat calmed, just a fraction. But Molly wasn’t calm, and neither was Dutch..

“You told on me? You betrayed me?”

“Oh you’re not so big now, are you?” Molly laughed harshly, and Arthur heard Dutch’s teeth grind.

“Quiet!”

“Just calm down,” Arthur muttered, and Dutch’s turned slowly toward him, his entire body tense with barely suppressed rage.

“Arthur?”

Arthur knew what he was thinking. Oh, the insults hurt, the bruise on his ego would take a long time to fade, but the pain behind Dutch’s eyes was of a sort that would take far longer to heal, and to know that  _ this woman _ was the cause of that tear in his heart...Arthur had to give him credit for not shooting her already.

“She’s a fool,” he said, calm, steady, and quiet. “ Get her out of here.”

“You know the rules,” Dutch snapped, and faced Molly again, who grimaced at him and shook her head. To the side, Arthur saw Miss Grimshaw pick up her shotgun, and a feeling like a heavy stone dropped in his stomach. He suddenly had an image of Molly lying in the dirt, covered in her own blood, chest blown apart by shot.

“Oh, not so big now,” the irishwoman was crying in a terrible mix of laughter and sobs, “are we your majesty?”

Miss Grimshaw stepped up to the circle and Arthur’s instinct screamed at him to stop her, but he couldn’t- wouldn’t -leave Dutch’s side now. Almost automatically, he cast a look around for John, but of course the man wasn’t there; no doubt he was sitting in a prison cell at that very moment, and Arthur didn’t know what to-.

“That’s enough now!”

Everyone’s gaze shifted from Molly to Abigail as the woman moved into her circle, her position stopping just in front of Grimshaw. Molly turned to her, confused as Abigail took hold of the young woman’s arm.

“You’re making a fool of yourself!” she said, tugging at the disoriented Molly, slowly getting her away from Dutch and toward the only tent that was set up so far: Arthur’s. “I don’t want to hear another word until you’re  _ sober _ .”

“Miss Roberts-,” Dutch began, a threatening bite to his words, and Micah stepped up to the outlaw’s other side.

“You know the  _ rules _ , Miss Roberts,” he sneered, “She shouldn’t be standing anymore.”

“That’s right,” Grimshaw echoed, though she looked a bit perturbed at the notion of agreeing with Micah. Arthur’s hand found Dutch’s shoulder again. The man was still as tense as a cat about to pounce, but the touch was enough to bring his attention round the younger man.

“Arthur-.”

“You won’t get anywhere killin’ her now.” Arthur watched as Abigail put her arm around Molly, assisting her stumbling steps toward a cot “We don’t know what else she told ‘em.”

“Arthur’s right,” Javier piped up, “She might have told them we’re in the area. Better let her sleep off the drink first.”

Arthur eyed him, wondering if the support came from some sort of moral standing, or perhaps he simply wanted to wait on killing the girl, but Javier wouldn’t meet his gaze. Micah grunted and shook his head.

“Waste of time,” he said, but already Arthur could feel the anger in Dutch fading from a raging fire to hot embers.

“Fine,” the outlaw snapped, holstering his revolver, “ _ Fine _ .”

He twisted out from under Arthur’s touch, stalking back onto the floorboards of his half-constructed tent. He collapsed into a chair and put his head in his hands...then seemed to realize everyone was still standing around, for he sighed and waved a hand.

“I’ll talk to her later,” he said, sounding defeated, and Arthur back away. He doubted that conversation would be anything nice, but at least Molly weren't dead, not yet anyway. As the others moved away to their tasks of setting up camp, he headed toward his own tent, where Abigail was sitting next to his bed. Molly was sitting on it, face hidden in her hands as sobs wrecked through her.

“It’s gonna be a while,” Abigail said when he approached. “Ain’t never easy, having your heart broken.” She sighed. “I would know.”

“When she’s...better, ask her about it,” Arthur said in a low voice. “Ask her if she really talked.”

Abigail glanced up at him with a curious eye. “You don’t think she did?”

“Do you?”

The woman shrugged. “Guess I don’t know. Some folks are thinking it was me.”

“ _ Micah _ thinks it’s you,” Arthur said, looking back across camp as he spoke the name. The man in question was still lurking by Dutch’s tent, and his eyes snapped toward Arthur as if sensing the man’s gaze on him. “But he’d say anything to put himself in favor and the rest of us out.”

“I’ll talk to her,” Abigail promised, patting Molly’s shoulder as another muffled cry escaped the young woman.

Arthur nodded. “Thank you.”

With nothing else to do there for the time being, he moved away, looking for a job to assist with. Charles was making a firepit and the outlaw joined him, trying to distract himself until the inevitable conclusion to this newest mess Dutch had found himself in.

-

It was late when Abigail finally broached the subject of the bank. Molly had slept on and off all day, mostly sick between naps, and Abigail did her best to keep the young woman clean and drinking plenty of water. She got nasty looks from a few, most notably Micah and Grimshaw, but Mary-Beth had come over and sat by the bed while Abigail tended to Jack, and read a piece of poetry to Molly when it seemed she was just pretending to sleep.

The camp was fully constructed and mostly quiet when Molly sat up, pushing loose strands of hair from her eyes and looking around. Abigail handed her a cup of water, which was accepted in shaky hands, then leaned back in the chair and crossed her arms.

“How you feeling?”

“Just awful,” Molly croaked out when she’d downed most of the water..

“And maybe you deserve it,” Abigail said, “but maybe you don’t.”

Molly’s knees came up to her chest and she buried her face in her arms, her expression hidden. Abigail leaned forward, resting a hand on her leg, and the young woman jumped a bit under the touch.

“We ain’t ever talked much, you and me...and to be honest it’s because we ain’t nothin’ alike. But we’re past differences now, we’re survin’, so tell me...did you talk to them Pinkertons about the bank?”

Molly was quiet, motionless save for soft breaths in and out of her lungs, and Abigail’s fingers pressured down slightly through the cloth of the skirt.

“...no.”

“What was that now?”

“No.” Green eyes made red with tears lifted to Abigail’s face. “I didn’t talk...don’t know who did. I just wanted to make him angry. N-needed im to feel  _ s-somethin’ _ toward m-me!” A sob forced its way up her throat as she confessed, and she choked on it. “I-I’m so tired of m-meanin’  _ nothin’ _ !”

Abigail’s arms were around her then, letting the other woman cry into her chest until she ran out of tears and breath. “The world ain’t nice to us women,” she said softly, “Not at all, and there’s no changing that. But at least you ain’t dead.”

Molly rested her head on Abigail's arm, tear-filled eyes staring bleakly out into the darkness as she whispered, “I feel like I am.”

-

The next day found Molly back in Dutch’s tent, despite Abigail’s argument against it.

“He is  _ not _ what she needs,” she said angrily to Arthur when the young woman fell sobbing against Dutch’s chest. “She needs to be away from him.”

“I ain’t sure either of them would listen to me,” Arthur said, then sighed under Abigail’s glower. “Alright, I’ll talk to her later.”

“Thank you, Arthur.”

But later found Sadie and Arthur off to see if they could spot John from an air balloon, so when evening came, Molly still sat on Dutch’s bed with a book in her hands that hadn’t seen a page turn in over an hour.

So lost in thought was she that the footfalls on the floorboards didn’t alert her to the visitor’s presence until he was standing over her, blocking the lamplight. She looked up, tired and annoyed.

“What do you want?”

“Don’t sound so mad now,” Micah replied, leaning in a bit too close for comfort. “Just want to...confirm a few things in your story of innocence.”

“I told the truth,” Molly huffed, “Though I sometimes wish I’d done it!” Her eyes softened then, and so did her tone when she added, “No I don’t.”

“I have a job for you,” Micah said, and Molly stared up at him, wary. “I’m going to need you to go and tell Dutch you  _ did  _ talk, and that you’re the reason that bank was such a failure.”

Molly’s eyes widened with each word until he was finished speaking, and then she spat, “Why the hell would I do that?”

Micah reached out, brushing a strand of red hair from her face and she flinched back from his touch. “I’ve got an interest in your guilt. I could use a scapegoat, and you’re just perfect.”

“You’re-!” Molly made to rise but the man’s hand took her shoulder and pushed her back down to the bed. “You’re the rat, you filthy bastard! I’m not takin’ the blame for  _ you _ , Micah Bell. Let me up or I’ll scream!”

“I don’t think so,” Micah hissed, and Molly jumped when the barrel of his gun pressed to her throat. “You haven’t even heard me out.”

She didn’t reply, shivering under the metal against her skin, and he continued.

“I need you to take the fall for me, Miss Molly O’Shea,” he growled. “They’ll have you as their camp rat and I'm freed of suspicion...after all,  _ two  _ traitors is a bit much. You confess to it and I promise I'll make sure they don’t kill you.”

“You’re with Milton,” Molly whispered, and Micah chuckled.

“Of course, you stupid woman. Someone had to take what they’re offering, and it’s a hell of a lot better than a little cash.  _ Immunity _ , that’s what I’m getting.”

Her gaze flicked toward the closed tent flaps. “The bank-.”

“I didn’t tell them about the stupid bank.” The gun pressed harder to Molly’s neck and she gasped, a tear rolling down her cheek. She tore her eyes from the tent’s entrance to look back up to Micah, who had yet to notice what she had seen. “I didn’t get the old man killed, though that  _ was  _ a nice treat coming out of that mess. Naw, I betrayed Dutch to Milton after that, and I’m still betraying that fool now.”

“You’re  _ what _ ?” came a third voice, and Micah reeled back from Molly, moving to stand in the middle of the tent as he gaped at Dutch standing in the entrance, partially backlit from the setting sun outside. He opened his mouth, closed it again, then coughed out,

“Boss-.”

The shots from Dutch’s gun were loud and sudden, and Molly let out a short scream before slapping her hands over her mouth. Dutch’s eyes bored holes through Micah, but it was the six bullets he’d sent into the man’s body that sent him swaying for a moment, before he dropped to the ground with a solid thump.

Arthur came pounding up to the tent a second later, Sadie, Charles and a few others on his heels. He didn’t say a word about the dead man on the floor, but he did wave Abigail past Sadie, who was holding the others back. “Get her out of here.”

Abigail tucked Molly under an arm and led her out as Arthur turned to the man still standing with a smoking gun in his hand.

“Dutch?”

“Micah...he….” Dutch gestured weakly. “He was with Milton.”

Arthur’s mouth tightened into a line. “Ain’t much of a surprise.”

Dutch looked around like he was lost, his gaze always refocusing on Micah’s body. “I thought he was family.”

“He never was that,” Arthur said. “And you know it. He fed your ideas, Dutch, not your heart.”

He wondered if that was the wrong thing to say, and braced himself for a verbal attack, but none came. Dutch simply stood there with drooping shoulders and downcast eyes. Pity slipped it’s way into Arthur’s chest, prompting him to put a hand on his mentor’s back, but he hesitated.

“Come on, Dutch. Let’s let the boys take care of this.”

“I ain’t got anything left, Arthur,” Dutch said, not moving. “I ain’t got….” The hand not holding his gun came up to wipe furiously across his eyes.

Arthur’s gut twisted.  _ ‘No, you aint got nothing,’  _ he wanted to say,  _ ‘Because you won’t let us be  _ something _.’ _

But he didn’t say those words.

“You got a lotta people out there,” he said instead. “Susan, Pearson and...and Javier and Bill. You got Abigail and John too, if you care enough to get him back. You got Molly, though Lord knows you don’t deserve her. And you got  _ me _ , Dutch. You always got me.”

Slowly, tiredly, Dutch holstered his gun and lifted his gaze. In his eyes, Arthur saw a sort of vulnerability he wasn’t prepared for and Dutch’s voice held none of the sarcasm or judgment that had become commonplace when he asked quietly,

“What’s the plan, Arthur? What’s our plan?”

Arthur finally let his hand settle on his mentor’s back, feeling the slight quake of muscles under his palm. “The plan’s always been to live free,” he replied. “But this time, we’re going to do it for real.”

**Author's Note:**

> Can you guys believe I wrote a fic WITHOUT Hosea in it? I'm pretty sure I don't even mention his name in this. I am appalled at myself. Forgive me, Hosea stans.


End file.
